Fireworks
by claraphernalia
Summary: A fuse is lit and it's just a matter of time before they explode. Prequel to "The Nod".


**AN: Someone (ushallneverknow) asked for a prequel sort of thing, and I had written a little something during Chemistry class, so I thought it would be appropriate for me to publish this. Enjoy!**

**Song recommendation for this one shot is: Leaving The Lights On by Ethan Basden. ( It's such a good song and it sort of fits with the story.)**

* * *

They are destructive—like fireworks bursting into the sky. The thing is, they don't become beautiful memoirs of happy times. Instead, they burst into colorful sparks into the sky and give the impression of lasting forever when in reality, they don't. They explode and burst into showers of tears, realising that their love won't last as long as they wanted.

* * *

It's fight after fight after fight and Hermione is slowly starting to dread seeing Draco. When Draco kisses her to say sorry, the butterflies that were previously there, fly away into oblivion. All Hermione feels is a pit of nothingness in her stomach, slowly sucking all the life out of her. This makes Hermione think about things. She remembers all the "advice" her friends had given her. (_Stay away from Draco. He isn't good for you.) _The pit in her stomach leaves a feeling of uneasiness. She struggles to wrap her head around the fact that she's drifting away from Draco. Hermione is hurt by this discovery and she takes a breather from Draco for a long time.

* * *

He sends her owls. He sends her chocolates. He even shows up at her work. But nothing seems to work, and Hermione is still as distant as she's been the last time they had a row.

Draco doesn't really know what happened. He loves Hermione, that much he knows. But somewhere along the way, almost everything he said triggered her anger and they ended up shouting at each other almost all of the time. Whether it was a jab at her friends or just being a sarcastic little jerk 90% of the time, she got mad. He was so sure that those were the things she loved him for. And if you loved someone, didn't that mean trying to change the ugly things?

Draco is utterly confused about their whole relationship. Sure, they got off on a rocky start, but things became better after that. They fit well together, almost as if they were made for each other. But he didn't believe in that nonsense. He was a realist and she was an optimist. (Little things like that weren't dwelled on by Draco before, but after some thought, he thinks that maybe the little things are what drove them apart.) Everyone had said that they were doomed from the start and that's what made Draco strive to keep on going. He wasn't the same person he was years ago, who cared about what everyone thought. When he met Hermione, almost everything he had ever known about the world flew out the window. Draco is now a changed person and Hermione is living proof of that.

* * *

They make up again after some sincere apologies from Draco.

_This time, _Hermione surmises, _it just might work. _

(Hermione is correct about most things, but that one thought of hers turns out to be utterly mistaken.)

* * *

"_I would rather end it all tonight and if I mean anything to you, I'm sorry but I made up my mind." – _Bulls In The Bronx, Pierce the Veil

This fight is different, Draco can tell. There's an angry aura around them, crackling and waiting to burst into flames. There are tears streaming down Hermione's face and he's on the verge of them.

"Draco, why can't you try to understand?" she pleads, clutching Draco's shirt tightly in her hands.

He had taken Hermione to meet his mother that afternoon. Needless to say, harsh words were said to her by his traditional Pureblood mother. Draco had been frozen in his spot, itching to say the words that would make his mother realise that he did love Hermione and that blood shouldn't matter anymore. Manners and his old Pureblood ways were to blame for Draco's silence. Hermione had given him a broken look and at that particular point, he wished he could stand up for himself in regards to his family. Rather, he kept silence, his fingernails digging into his palms, creating crescent shaped moons of disgrace.

"I understand, Hermione," he replies, hugging her tightly to his quivering frame.

Hermione isn't used to this hug anymore. Whereas her body used to melt into his, it is now uncomfortable and harsh—his sharp angles digging into her rounded ones painfully. She pulls away from the hug and her eyes meet Draco's.

"No, you don't," she whispers. "You don't understand how one word can break a person like me. You don't understand why I have worked so hard to be who I am. I've never really fit in anywhere, Draco. In the Muggle world, I've always been weird. When I finally came into the Wizarding World, I thought I'd finally have a place to stay. No. Instead, I had to work harder because one word defined me. I was just Hermione Granger, mudblood, to you and your kind."

Draco deflates visibly when she says "your kind". Hermione wishes she could take it back because Draco is so, so far from who he used to be. She is on a roll, though, and more words spill out from her mouth.

"I thought you viewed me differently, Draco. I thought you were the one who would finally understand what it was like to have one or two words define you. You struggled after the war, did you not? You know what it's like to have everyone whisper about you being a Death Eater, yes? You know, Draco. Or rather, you _knew._"

Hermione's voice is rising, almost to the point of shouting.

"Then tell me Draco, why didn't you defend me from your mother's cruel words?! You knew how much they hurt me. You know how much I want her to approve of us. Do you even know that my parents hated you so much just because of your Dark Mark? Do you know then that I did everything I could to prove that you were a changed person? Do you know that they didn't believe me? Draco, tell me, did you know that they disowned me?" Hermione struggled to breathe as she looks at Draco's expression. His eyes have a certain shine to them and Hermione can tell that he's trying to hold his tears back.

"I did all of those things for you. Why, then, didn't you do that for me?"

Draco's silence is deafening and suddenly, Hermione can't take it anymore. Her mind is in overdrive; she's analysing and rethinking everything about Draco. She would rather not speak to him about this anymore. Hermione's heart is on the cusp of breaking into two. So she says the words that haunt the both of them for the rest of their lives.

"I'm sorry, Draco." Her tone is final and she feels a heavy weight lift from her shoulders and that embarrasses her. She doesn't want to let go of him, but it feels so relieving to finally be free of slowly ebbing into nothingness.

Then she walks out the door, each step defiant. What she really wants is for Draco to follow her. (She would have followed him to the ends of the world, but that was then.)

* * *

Draco drowns his sorrows that night by drinking. His mind is hazy, but the clarity of Hermione's words rings in his ears. He takes another swig of Firewhiskey, feeling the liquid burn down his throat and settle in the dark hole of his stomach.

He knows he messed up this time. He's not sure whether things can be fixed. Maybe if he stood up to his mother. But Draco knows he's never going to do that. He is bound by duty to his family, so he drinks a little bit more to forget his weakness. He curses himself and feels the salty tracks of shame slide down his cheeks.

Draco had always thought that alcohol would make him forget about her. But it doesn't. It never will. Nothing will make him forget about her and everything that went wrong.

* * *

Hermione is wrapped up in a blanket while she drinks her warm mug of tea. She's staring at nothing, but she looks so focused. She ran out of tears at 3 AM and she can't cry. She tries not to, anyway.

She practices saying his name several times, noticing the way it glides easily off her tongue. The sweetness of saying his name is left in her mouth, so she takes another gulp of tea to wash it away.

There's a knock at her door and her heart starts beating loudly. "Draco?" she asks, her voice so full of hope.

When she opens the door, she is met with a flash of shockingly red hair and her hopes are dashed. She keeps wishing the blue eyes to turn into the grey ones she fell in love with, but to no avail.

"Ron," is all she says, noticing the way his name sounds like a cry for help.

* * *

He ends up outside her flat one day, overwhelmed by the scent she left on her side of his bed.

When she opens the door, he is greeted with the sight of a different Hermione. She doesn't look like she used to and his heart stops at the sight of her.

"Hello," she greets coldly, freezing his heart.

On the tip of his tongue are words he had been practicing to say; instead, words he wished he'd never said slip out. "I've come to collect my things." His voice is devoid of any emotion, despite his inner turmoil.

Flickers of emotions pass by Hermione's face and Draco picks up one of them: _pity. _She nods in understanding and gestures towards the door. "Of course."

* * *

She watches him as he collects all his stuff and magically places it into his bag. She busies herself with other things, but she can see what Draco is doing from the corner of her eye. Draco's hesitation is visible and it makes her heart ache. She wishes things weren't like this and they could go back to the happy couple they used to be. But she knows that there are too many spoken and unspoken words that can't be taken back. Hermione also knows that there are incidents that will never lay low during their relationship. If only she had the time turner again…

* * *

It's only been 3 months but she looks so different. There's something about her that Draco cannot seem to put his finger on.

There are too many memories in Hermione's flat and in his things. He doesn't want to collect them; he wants them to stay in her flat. Hell, even he wants to stay in her flat. Despite his longing, Draco can visualise the repercussions of staying with Hermione. More fights will ensue, and neither of them will be able to fix each other's brokenness. So he packs up his belongings and stands up straight.

"Goodbye," he says. Draco hesitates before saying something that alters their relationship. "Granger."

When he walks out the door, it finally becomes clear to Draco: Hermione looks free again—something she failed to become as her relationship progressed with him.

He decides to let her go that day, and he has regretted that decision since.

* * *

"Goodbye, Granger," is all Hermione can hear. She doesn't hear the busy sounds of the city. She doesn't hear the owl pecking at her window. His voice is on repeat for her mind to remember over and over again.

His voice was so different when he said those words. Whereas his tone was always superior and refined, this time it was soft and defeated.

She cries herself to sleep that night, reminded of her lost self without Draco.

Draco was her rock and he grounded her to life.  
He was her hope when she was about to give up.  
He never knew those things, but she wishes she could tell him.  
She can't tell him anymore.  
Not when she's _Granger _to him again.

* * *

He is motionless in the dark, lying still on his bed. He tries to remember how his bed felt like with Hermione in it. When he fails to remember, he rolls over on her side and soaks up her essence. He finds her side of the bed cold and tainted. He feels so foreign there and he feels as though he's invaded her personal space. He decides to preserve that spot for her until she comes back.

Then he gains understanding that Herm—Granger is never coming back. No matter how much he wants her to. After all, dreams only do last for the night. And Draco would rather dream of her than face reality.

He turns over to bury his face in the pillow to muffle his sobs. He knows that a Malfoy never cries because of a girl. But that's what Draco finds himself doing throughout the night and he cannot seem to stop.

She was his beacon of light whenever darkness enveloped him like a heavy cloak.  
She was his reason for changing into someone better.  
She was his reason for trying to live again.

And now she slipped right through his fingers, leaving him darkness yet again.


End file.
